To be Brave
by kialick
Summary: After OotP, during HBP. Canon. Harry struggles to overcome the loss of his Godfather, and starts to wonder if death is the answer for him. Angst, depression, self harm, possible Snarry/Pre Slash
1. The boy who didn't want to live

Authors Note: Just a little something I've felt like writing. I don't think its particularly good, and Im not looking for reviews. I rarely write Fan fics, btw

~Kia

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><p>A brave front. The mask of a Gryffindor. A concealment against everything he felt inside. He didn't even tell Ron or Hermione what was going on in his own mind. How could they understand? He loved them dearly as friends, but they would never, ever, understand.<p>

Over the summer he'd been building his mask, trying to come to terms with Sirius' death. His Aunt and uncle hardly showed a care about Harry or his seclusion, his silence. Sirius was all Harry had. The only true family he had left. He couldn't come to terms with it. He couldn't understand why. Even without the constant nightmares and access from Voldemort into his mind, from last year, he was still being broken by the Dark Lord. Harry often mused to himself, comparing himself to a pane of glass where stones were thrown. The largest stones had been Voldemorts return and Sirius' death. He was afraid of breaking.

And now he had returned to Hogwarts, with a new name. The Chosen One. He hated it, the eyes on him, and the affection from those he didn't really care about. They believed him now, they knew the truth, and they pitied him. But nothing helped. He kept up the mask, smiling, pretending to be humble about the sudden attention. Inside, he felt hollow though.

'weak,' a voice would hiss in his mind. Harry knew it was his own, he knew it was telling the truth as well. 'Helpless. People have died for you and you can't avenge them.'

His inner voice delighted in torturing him, and leaving him with no one to talk to. No one understands.

Whenever he was around anyone, whenever Hermione and Ron talked to him, and they shared smiles and laughs, it felt like a dream. Unreal. He smiled and laughed at appropriate moments, but there was nothing to it. He was empty. His friends, his teachers, Hogwarts, they only barely grounded him now. He wanted to be with his parents. To be with Sirius.

"Potter!" McGonagall barked in the middle of transfiguration. Harry looked up, and blinked slowly.

"Yes, professor?" He asked, unsure of what had happened.

"I asked you a question," She replied sharply. "5 points, Mr. Potter," She said with a sigh. "Ms. Granger, could you instead, enlighten us on the benefits of being an Animagus?"

Harry opened his mouth a little, but then fell silent. He zoned out to Hermiones voice, most likely giving a perfect and highly detailed explanation to the question he didn't hear.

"Harry," Hermione began as they left the class later on. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, mate, you zoned out all class," Ron added, before screwing up his face and adding "Well, all morning now that I think about it."

"I'm fine guys, just a little tired," Harry replied, giving them a false smile. Ron easily believed it and didn't push any further. Hermione gave him a worried glance. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Still having nightmares?" She asked. He shrugged, shaking off her question. He'd rather avoid the topic all together.

"I can't believe Snape's our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!" Ron exclaimed as they headed to the very class. "Slimy, old git…"

"Ten points, Mr. Weasly," Came Snapes familiar drawl. He must have heard as they came down the corridor, standing at the door the class room. Ron pursed his lips and flushed an embarrassed color. Snapes cold, black eyes locked onto Harry, filled with the familiar contempt. Harry blinked in response, not glaring, not giving any indication of emotion.

He walked past the teacher and took his seat, Snape looking after him curiously.

...

For the rest of the day, Harry was just as distracted. He lost house points for his inattentiveness, but Hermione made up for them with hers. Both her and Ron were watching him a little more closely, although he fended there worry with more masks, more walls, more smiles. He was almost… hurt that they so easily fell for them. He knew they cared, but part of him wanted them to notice something really was the matter.

That night, he couldn't sleep either, nightmares flashing between Voldemorts high, cruel laughter as he killed Harrys parents to Sirius being hit in the chest by Bellatrix's spell and dying to Cedric being thrown across the ground by the killing curse. He sat up after his last bout of nightmares, panting and sweaty. He threw the blankets off, and grabbed his invisibility cloak.

He needed to walk. With the Marauders Map in hand, he walked across the castle, going anywhere he felt like. There were few people walking the halls this time at night; He could see Snape on the map, prowling the lower halls. He still felt no feeling of loathing, not anger towards the man. Nothing. It felt strange. A few ghosts were about, and, as was to be expected, Peeves was doing something in the Potions room. Perhaps he should tell Slughorn… but as he glanced at the map, the man was sleeping. Tomorrow he would tell then.

Harry checked the map as he went, watching as Severus walked into the dungeons, where potions was, and finding Peeves. The dot that was the ghost ran off, Snape fixing up whatever the ghost had done. No anger, no laugh at Snape needing to clean up the mess, nothing.

"Mischief managed," Harry mumbled as he put the map away. He didn't really need it now. The only ones who concerned him were asleep. Or picking up after a ghosts' mess. Plus, he had the cloak on.

And so he wandered, until in the early hours of the morning, he slumped against a wall. He felt tired, but he could feel the nightmares, just on the edge of his mind. He didn't want to sleep. He still wanted to be with Sirius and with his Parents. A door appeared suddenly. The room of requirements. Harry opened the door and stepped in. It was a bedroom now, a bed, a draft of what was probably dreamless sleep potion. There was something else too, however. A razor.

He looked at the metallic item curiously, feeling the cold against his skin. It was so simple to find an artery, just to end it all. No one would ever find him. He would be in here, dead, until someone else needed the Room.

He was disgusted by his own ideas, the first true emotion he'd felt in while.

"I'm not that cowardly," He growled to no one, throwing the razor on the floor and leaving. However, there was someone else there when the door opened and Harry ran right into the warm body.

"Tsk tsk, Potter. Still walking the halls when you feel the urge to be out after curfew?" Snape said slowly. Harry backed away, finding no smart retort in his mouth tonight. "20 points from Gryffindor then."

Harry still had nothing to say, he just looked back into the room and considered getting the razor now_… __No ,__I__'__m __not __that__ cowardly.__I__ will__ not__ kill __myself_. He chastened. 'but it would be so easy… just one cut and no more needing to be the Chosen one. No more causing others pain, Harry. All you do is cause pain.'

"Potter!" Snape barked, grabbing the boys shoulders. Harry looked up at him and blinked in surprise.

"Yes, sir?" He replied quietly. Snape searched his face for answers. His arrogant face. The face of James Potter. This child was exactly like him, and last year only gave him more reason to detest the boy. But there was something off about Potter now. He wasn't angry, he wasn't spitting out insults or glowing red at the loss of points.

The boy had looked back into the room, if only for a moment.

"Stay put," Snape said testily, stepping into the open doors of the Room of Requirement. A simple four poster bed, a goblet of, what was it? Snape sniffed at. Dreamless Sleep draught. So he had been having nightmares, it seemed. Poor little Potter. Snape sneered. Then the glimmer caught his eye. His onyx eyes flashed to the floor of the room. A razor. His brows raised slowly, understanding what might have transpired, and what Harry was actually doing.

"We're going to the Headmasters' office," Snape said, grabbing the boy by the arm and dragging him along. Harry went without protest, although his face twinged at Snapes' grip.

"Caramel," Snape said to the statue guarding Albus' office. It moved, and they went up. He let go of Harry and said "Stay."

Harry nodded, and Snape went to get Dumbledore.

Snape had seen the razor, it was the only reason he dragged Harry up here to see Dumbledore. Dumbledore, who relied on Harry, the Chosen One. The One he didn't want to be at all. He could already see the look of disappointment on his face that Harry had even for a moment considered the option.

'All you do is cause others pain, Harry,' the voice hissed. Harry shook it off, flexing his neck as he had started doing last year. He hated it, but it was a tick he seemed to have developed. Dumbledore and Snape came back, Harry looking at the Headmaster. His blue eyes didn't shine or twinkle, they looked grave, sad.

Snape moved to leave.

"Severus, please stay for a moment more," Albus asked quietly. Snape narrowed his eyes but stayed, keeping his distance from Harry. Dumbledore turned his attention to the boy. "Harry, Severus has told me he found you in the room of requirements, with a razor blade." He said it so carefully, as though if he spoke louder, the tension would break. The softness of his voice made Harry feel guilty.

"Yes, sir," He replied, unsure of what to say after. Dumbledore sat in his chair, rubbing his temples wearily.

"Harry, speak to me." He said after a moment of silence. "What's wrong?"

"I… I don't know, sir," Harry mumbled, looking into the floor. Dumbledore was obviously tired, he didn't need Harry's problems thrust on his shoulders, like he had done so many times before. Harry wasn't sure how he would explain himself anyway. Dumbledore looked at him, into him it seemed, in the silence. Harry wanted to get away.

"Sir, I'm really tired." Harry finally managed, after a few moments that felt like hours. "Can I go back to my dormitory?"

Albus sighed and nodded. He wouldn't push the boy any more. He would talk eventually, when he felt like it. Harry stood.

"Severus, please escort Harry to his dormitory," Albus asked as he rose. Snapes nostrils flared, looking down at Harry.

"Yes, headmaster," He replied in a monotonous voice. Albus left, Snape jerked his thumb at the door.

"Potter, what exactly is going through your famous little head?" Snape sneered as they walked down the hall. "Trying to get a large pity party? As if the fans you have don't weep enough on your behalf."

'All you do is cause others pain, Harry,'

Silence.

"I expect to be answered when I ask you something," Snape said coldly. Still nothing. He glanced at the boy, seeing his eyes glazed over and staring off into the distance "Potter." Still no response. He grabbed the boys shoulders. "Potter!"

Harry looked up at him, caught off guard by his sudden grab. Severus tried to read the boy, but he was still partially dazed, caught between somewhere and nowhere. He released him and continued walking hastily towards the Gryffindors Dormitories, Harry walking quickly to catch up to the teachers' quicker stride.

As they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry seemed a little more responsive to the things around him.

"Mandrake root," Harry mumbled. The lady, disgruntled at being woken, swung open for him.

"Death is not a viable option, Potter," Snape said after the boy. The portrait swung shut.


	2. Glory of the Blade

The next morning, no one had any clue about what had happened the night before. Harry Potter was still the Chosen one, his friends were still worried about him, and the rest of the world loved him. All was the same.

But a nagging began in the back of his mind. 'All you do is cause others pain, Harry.' He hurt too, emotionally, still struggling with Sirius' death… Attention was still not being paid, not in any of his classes. In potions, the book he'd found from the Half Blood Prince helped him, made things far easier. Slughorn loved him now, he was the favorite, the best in the class. But even that gave him no satisfaction.

"Detention, Potter," Came a cold voice one day in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Harry looked up surprised at Snape, who was standing over him. The rest of the class was watching him. He must have zoned out again on a question… Harry nodded, wishing to shrink away. Why couldn't he concentrate?

That evening, he went to detention in Snapes office, not fond of being the room once again. He hated it here. Hated the Occlumency lessons. Inside he felt anger at Snape as well.

The teacher didn't look up from his work, just motioning for Harry to sit down.

He looked at the boy from his papers, unsurprised to see him looking off into the distance again. A dead man's stare. Severus put down his quill, and interlocked his fingers, leaning forward. He detested this boy, for who his father was. And for who is mother was. Lilly should not have died for this child.

'Don't forget who told the Dark Lord about the prophecy in the first place, Severus,' his own inner voice hissed. He ignored it, staring at the blank Potter. It was strange to see him without emotion.

Usually his green eyes would be locked on the older man with enough hatred to burn him alive. But he was too lost in thought.

"Potter!" Snape barked loudly, knowing anything more gentle wouldn't stir the boy from his trance.

It was like a light went on, as the Harrys head swung to look at Snape slowly.

"You need to stop this," Severus said coldly. Harry looked at him confused. "Talk to someone. The Headmaster, your little Gryffindor friends, someone. I would more than gladly have you expelled for not being able to concentrate, however there is more than a lack of concentration here." He explained slowly. Harry looked away.

"Potter," He growled, Harry looked at him again. Emotion flickered. Sadness, regret, depression. Snape pursed his lips, knowing all those emotions all too well. Damn boy.

"I don't need to talk to anyone," Harry replied, adding force behind his words. "And unless you're detention is talking me into submission-"

"Arrogant, and insolent, just like your bloody father," Snape hissed, standing to his feet. A twinge of anger. There was the emotion. But it hardly lasted, as Harry looked off again. Snape raised his brows. Potter, refusing the chance to defend his fathers holy way of living? Something really was wrong with him.

Why should he even care? If anything, a silent, brooding Potter was an improvement. And yet... He thought of the razor blade. Would Potter really go that far as to mutilate himself? Or worse, kill himself. He was all the Wizarding world had left, even Snape had to admit that.

Snape strode to Harry's side, waving a hand in the boys face. Harry's eyes flickered away from his hand, but still empty. He tried another approach.

"Lost in your day dreams of fame, Potter?" He asked icily.

…...

Fame? Was that what this was? If this was fame, he'd rather jump from the Astronomy tower. That was an idea now... He could hear Snape talking, attempting to provoke anything out of him. He stood, focusing on the Professor. Was that worry on his face? Couldn't be. He hated Harry. Hated everything about him, from his lineage to how he walked for Merlins sake.

He walked out. Just left. Snape made no move to pull him back and make him stay. He had to leave, he was suffocating in his mind. He needed to move, to clear his mind. He walked everywhere and no where, up and down stairs, until he collapsed against a wall.

His head hurt. His scar hurt. It burned, but he knew Voldemort wasn't near here, and there was no vision, he wasn't seeing through his eyes, yet... It burned. He cried out once, grabbing his head as if it could make it stop. It didn't.

'Poor, weak little Harry...' the voice whispered. The pain was more then before. Much more. Was his depression causing it to be worse? 'Just end it. No more pain, no more suffering. For anyone.'

"No!" Harry yelled out loud. He hadn't meant to, but it slipped out. The pain began to subside, slowing to a dull throbbing.

"Harry..." A small voice came. He looked over, regaining his breath as he saw Hermione. She was looking at him, worry obvious. "Oh, Harry." She knelt beside him. "I knew something was wrong."

"I'm fine," He snapped, pulling his head away and flexing his neck. Hermione recoiled, staring into his sudden angry eyes.

"I just want to help-"

"No one can help, Hermione. No one," The last words came out as a whisper. He pulled his knees up, and rested his head between them. Hermione carefully placed an arm around him.

…...

Hermione led him back to the dorms after he'd felt well enough to walk. She worried for him, and that made him feel comfortable. Better. But not fully. He slept, but was restless, and he woke up with dark rings around his eyes.

At breakfast, Hermione paid much more attention to him than normal, Ron left behind in what was going on.

"Harry, let me go talk to Ron," Hermione said as the red head practically stormed away. Harry nodded, eyes flickering around. Malfoy and his gang seemed surprisingly quiet, but Harry preferred it that way.

Snape was watching him, although when Harry stared, he looked away as casually as if he hadn't meant anything by it. He did though. Why was Snape even paying attention? He was just a git who had no care for Harry Potter or any Gryffindor.

Hermione didn't return as fast as Harry had hoped, so he left on his own. Of course, he was never really on his own. People were everywhere, watching him, following him, pestering him. He smiled and continued his humble act. In truth he wanted to be rid of them all, to shout and curse them all.

He wanted to be alone, but he wanted someone there. No one here could be who he wanted though. He hardly trusted even his own friends.

…...

Harry skipped his first class. And the second. No one asked him why, no one cared. He hid away in the library, grabbing any books he saw, and reading them. Not really read, per say, more like skim, to avoid being kicked out by the Librarian.

Eventually he did leave, feeling dragged down by everything. He couldn't make himself stop with the mask of smiles, no one even knew anything was wrong with him. Maybe it was better that way.

"Harry! Where were you?" A panicked voice came. Hermione grabbed his shoulder and he looked at her. Ron was watching him with a reassuring smile. She must have told him. Hermione looked him over quickly, and he smiled meekly.

"I'm fine, Hermione. I just... didn't want to go to class?" He offered. His smile was so plastic, it almost hurt. But she gave him a serious, stern look.

"You can't just skip classes when you want, Harry!" She exclaimed. Ron chuckled, and she shot him a glance. Harry laughed a little at her reaction, and they both lightened up as if he was suddenly... Better. He couldn't be as far from it.

…...

That night, it was dementors that kept him thrashing. Coming down on him and Sirius at the lake, sucking every ounce of happiness. He woke up clammy and sweating. Careful not to disturb any of his classmates in the dorm, he went to grab his cloak. But it wasn't there.

"Damn it..." He spat quietly. He had left it in the Room of Requirements, when Snape had found him. Grabbing the Marauders map, he left. He would need to tread a little more lightly tonight...

It was almost 2 in the morning, and luckily few were awake at this ungodly hour. Snape was, of course, but as long as he stayed in his dungeons, Harry was safe. He went up the stairs and down the corridors, until he reached the seventh floor corridor. He stood in front of a wall, and closed his eyes.

_I need my cloak back._ He thought, trying to rid his mind of any other need. It wasn't as easy as he' hoped. As soon as he began to think of what he didn't need, his mind wasn't his safe haven. The door appeared, but he was almost afraid to open it.

It was the same as before, a bed, a fraught and his cloak. And a razor blade. He grabbed his cloak, turning and determined to ignore the glinting silver metal. It called to him like a magpie to shiny coins. He looked around, grabbed it, and fled, before he changed his mind again.

…...

He had the razor. He could have easily transfigured another item into a razor, a blade, something sharp, if he so wanted. But he had this one. He sat in bed, no longer longing to run around the castle, even with his cloak. It sat at the bottom of his trunk once again, while he sat on his bed, and played with the sharp metal.

It was 3 now, and everyone was still asleep. Maybe just a nick. He pressed the blade against his thumb, sliding it across easily. He gasped at first, but the beading of blood felt... calming. It eased the pressure. He watched the blood drip down his hand, clenching his fist to halt the blood flow, while adding pain.

The pain, it felt wonderful. It didn't feel like when his scar burned, it was warm, sharp. He loved it.


	3. To Close for Comfort

Authors Note: I'm actually surprised at how many people are following this lol. Thanks for your enjoyment. I'm finding I'm enjoying writing this quite a bit, although I might someday revise. Obviously, its far from done.

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><p>He didn't know how long he could or would hide this. But he had found a sanctuary. After that night, he had begun cutting in earnest. He couldn't explain why it helped, but his nightmares had almost gone completely now, just shadows as he slept. The pain was a release, the blood reminding him of his life. Every night he would cut for someone. Someone he wasn't able to save in time, or who he was afraid of not being able to save. Needless to say, his arms became increasingly covered in puckered, red lines.<p>

Harry was cautious to keep his secret, careful that his robe sleeves fully covered the evidence of his self-mutilation. His friends seemed even more blissfully ignorant with him, enjoying the 'better' Harry Potter, who had magically come to terms with his problem. He hadn't though. He knew it. His mind was still not his safe haven. Every night the cuts would help him, but the urges only increased.

In the middle of class, his wrists would itch, begging to be reopened. The voice in his head was still trying to convince him to end it, but the cutting made life bearable. Being the chosen one was more bearable.

Snape was keeping even more a close eye on him. Harry didn't like it at all, wishing the professor would simply leave him alone. He always had before; he never bothered to see what was wrong.

…

He hadn't cared at all before now. He still didn't care, in all honestly. Severus' black gaze swept over Potter once more, finding the green eyes staring back coldly. It seemed he was able to muster his emotions back. Perhaps last year had just been emotionally draining. He snorted to himself inwardly.

Last year… He wanted to make Potter pay for what he had seen, dipping into his memories without permission. Arrogant, nosy brat. The familiar contempt flickered in his chest as the boy finally went back to what he was supposed to be doing. The professor continued to watch Potter, wondering about what really went on in his head.

Finding the razor blade in the room of requirements had shocked him. Gryffindors were rarely cowardly students. He had never heard of one being tempted to hurt or kill themselves. There was a first for everything he supposed. Potter carried a lot on his shoulders though. Much more than any adult man should be able to bear.

He narrowed his eyes as he felt a flicker of pity. It wasn't an emotion he frequently dealt with. Harry rubbed at his wrist, tugging the sleeve of his robe almost self-consciously. Severus knew that move. He knew that subtle behavior. He had done the same thing himself many years back when he was a student.

"Idiot boy…" He hissed quietly, no one hearing him. He would go to the Headmaster.

…

"Albus, the boy is cutting himself," Snape said in a raised tone as he swept into the Headmasters office. Dumbledore looked up from his book, white brows furrowed as he peered over his half-moon spectacles.

"What?" Was all he said.

"Potter has been cutting himself," Snape hissed again.

"How can you be sure—"

"Because he's acting like I did when I had done the same thing," Severus interrupted loudly. A few of the past headmasters and headmistresses leaned forward in their paintings curiously. "His moods gotten better, but he's been tugging at his sleeves all the time. He rubs his wrists like it's a tick."

"Severus, it may have just been nothing," Albus said slowly, although appearing to hardly believe himself as he spoke. "His arm could have itched. Maybe he has a tendency to tug on his sleeves when he's thinking—"

"Albus, don't be a fool," Snape cut in again, placing his hands on the headmasters' desk. "Potter needs help. I haven't noticed until recently his behaviors."

"He won't talk to me, Severus," Dumbledore said softly, looking away. "After last year, I don't think he has completely forgiven me."

"He won't talk to his friends, either. I see him smiling and laughing, but there is no emotion behind them, Albus, and they still believe it is there," Snape said slowly.

"Perhaps you should talk to him, Severus," Dumbledore said. Snape looked at him. There was no joking tone implied. He was serious. "You can relate to him, if on a smaller scale at least."

"Like he would talk to me," Severus growled. _And __like __I __would __talk __to __him_, he thought to himself. "He has detested me since the day he has walked into this school."

"And vice-versa," Dumbledore noted. The headmaster sighed. "But if he will talk to no one, how will he stop?"

"I could dose him with Veratiserum-"

"Severus." Dumbledore said sharply.

"I was being serious, Headmaster." Snape said. "He will not talk without coaxing."

"But he will not be helped if he is forced to speak." Albus said quietly. Severus sighed and looked off. It was true. No one could force him to talk. "At least try, Severus."

…

Try how, exactly? Pull Potter over and ask him how he felt? Pull another 'Remedial Potions' stint and talk to him in his office? That hardly worked the last detention he gave. But Albus had asked. They needed the boy and they needed him whole…

He was mumbling to himself as he walked a round around the school. He snapped at a few Gryffindor first years, feeling slightly more at ease with children crying. What kind of man was he? He gave himself a twisted grin, hearing the sound of Myrtles bathroom flooding. Snape sneered, knowing he would need to call Filch up and that the squib would be less then pleased.

As he was about to turn to find the man or his cat, something caught his eye. Blood, mixed in with the water, was seeping from the door. Feeling a cold pit in his stomach, he strode in, his shoes splashing in the water and the ends of his billowing cloak getting soaked. His eyes rolled over the area for a moment, seeing no one. But hearing something else.

Myrtle for one, and she wasn't wailing. She sounded rather animated in fact. And that was not something Severus believed to be a good thing. And then there was the crying.

He followed the running blood, flicking his wand to turn off the sinks that were running without cease. The blood lead to the back of the lavatory, where Myrtle was floating by a bleeding Potter, speaking to him softly. Snapes lips pursed, seeing the boy with his knees pulled to his forehead. His cloak was on the floor on a wet heap, Potter wearing a paint of slacks and a tee shirt. Both his arms that were wrapped around his legs were dripping with blood, and it was obvious he had already lost a lot.

"Potter." Snape called. Myrtle looked up and vanished, probably to the U-bend of her stinking toilet, and Potter looked up, eyes rimmed in red from the tears. The shock on his face turned to anger quickly.

"Go away," He sneered, standing up and swaying slightly. Severus raised his wand, ready for any possible situation.

"Come with me to the Hospital wing," Snape demanded, flicking his wand towards the exit.

"Why? So I can be fixed up again? So everyone can see the fallen Chosen One, who cuts himself?" Potter half yelled, breathing quicker. Loosing blood quicker.

"Don't do anything stupid," Snape warned.

"Everything I do is stupid. Everything I do is useless!" Potter shouted, more tears springing from his eyes. "I don't want attention. I don't want to be The Chosen One. You asked me that one evening, if I was staring off into fame. If the cries of everyone who I've failed, if Voldemorts laughter, if everything that hurt, was fame, than I'd rather die."

Snape opened his mouth, but what could he say? He couldn't offer empathy, for his life was vastly different from this boys. Harry took the razor that he was clenching in the palm of his hand, and dug it into his wrist and dragged it across.

"No-!" Snape barked, but it was already done, and the boy collapsed. Snape ran over, severing a piece of Harry's robe and pressuring the worst of the cuts. "You stupid child. Insufferable, selfish, boy." Snape growled as he picked up Harry and ran to the Hospital wing.

…

People stared. Let them stare. Let them see what kind of pressure they had thrown onto the boy. But that probably wasn't what they were really thinking. Snape walked hurriedly, a buzz rising like a swarm of angry bees. A few people tried to follow, but Snape gave glares and took points for those persistent ones. Passing a group of Slytherins, he heard their snickers, but he was going too fast to stop.

"Poppy!" Snape barked as he laid Harry on a bed. Pomfery ran in and gasped, Severus applying as much pressure he could on the cut. Potter was out cold as Pomfery pushed herself to his side and began flicking her wand and healing his cuts.

"What happened to him, Severus?"She asked, removing the wad of clothe from the deepest wound and stopping the blood flow.

"He was cutting himself," He said in a faint voice. She spared a moment to stare at the professor in disbelief. "Watch him. I'm going to fetch the headmaster."

…...

When Severus returned to the Hospital wing with Dumbledore, Harry was no longer covered in blood. He wore a clean, white infirmary dress, his worst arm bandaged tightly. Poppy looked at them worriedly.

"I was able to fix most of the fresh ones, but that deep one nearly bit the bone. It'll scar for sure..." She muttered. "But that's not the worst. Headmaster, he's been at this for a while."

She lifted his unbandaged arm, showing older scars running down from the crook of his elbow to his wrist. Snape shot the headmaster a knowing leer, but Albus seemed in shock. He parted his lips, but fell silent.

"He'll be alright. Physically, at the very least," Madame Pomfery. "He lost a great deal of blood. I got him to drink a relaxing draught, but he'll be asleep for a full day at least."

"Thank you, Poppy," Dumbledore said quietly. He looked at Snape, then apologetically at the boy.


	4. Similarities

Sorry its taken so long to update, everyone! I lost my Thumbdrive again. (it ALWAYS comes back) and finals have been eating my alive x_x however the few reviews I've gotten are pushing me forward! This chapter is a tad shorter then I'd like. Although all these chapters are shorter than I'd like... I like writing long... Trust me, I will goback and revise things in previous chapters at some point 3 Thank you I hope my writing continues to entertain :) Also, I'm not gonna ASK for reviews, however a few ego strokes and curious pokes do help motivate me 3

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><p>He didn't know why, but Severus felt obliged to stay with Potter. He turned down offers to join the dinner in the Great Hall, and for any food, as well as a place to rest since he 'so stubbornly insisted' on staying by Potter, as Pomfery had put it. Truth be told, he sat here, stared at the passed out boy, and argued with himself. Part of him wanted to spite the child, leave him here alone (his friends not even by his side, if it was even possible!) and ignore the near death experience. But the memories of Harry kept popping in his head. He had seen the horrors once, although it was all before the death of Sirius, before the battle witnessed between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. More had to be hidden away in there now.<p>

As he mused, Severus recalled the memories of Harry being yanked away by the hair by his Uncle, being beaten up by his cousin and his gang, the feelings of emptiness over the summer after his first year, when he received no mail from his friends. He had been abused and ignored his whole life. The savior of the wizarding world left to be tormented by his muggle relatives and his own thoughts. The things he had seen. An image of the Dark Lords rebirth emerged and Severus shivered. So young.

The bitterness in Severus tried to argue against the pity, but there was no way around it. No words against it. He felt sorry for the boy, through and through. And he knew he had been one of the worst tormentors Potter faced. He was just too much like his father. Even know, a million angry retorts were befuddling Severus' mind, for any situation. James Potter had made Snapes life miserable, stolen the only ray of sunshine he had.

_Lily._

But in the end, it was Severus' fault she lay dead. And he had promised Albus he'd take care of her last sacrifice. That sacrifice now lay on the bed, after attempting to kill himself. Did he not understand how much he was throwing away by trying to kill himself?

"Selfish child," Snape growled to no one, feeling his eye lids get heavy. It must have been late now. He glanced outside, seeing the moon floating quite high in the sky. He sighed, sinking himself into his thoughts once more until he fell asleep.

…...

Severus never was a heavy sleeper, always alert after years of being a Deatheater turned double- or triple- spy. So when Harry had begun to thrash on his bed, Severus had awoken abruptly. The room coming into clear focus, Snape looked at the boy. He was obviously experiencing a nightmare, tossing his head and clutching at the mattress and bedsheets. Severus rose as Potter began to cry out, grabbing the boy by the shoulders and gently shaking.

"Potter." Severus said clearly, shaking the boy. Potters eyes flew open, pupils dilating to the sudden darkness. He gasped, and sputtered, grabbing onto Severus' arms painfully tight.

"Make it stop," He whined, gasping as if he was about to burst into tears. Severus' furrowed his brows, Potter pulling himself up, still holding on to the professors arm. "Please..."

"Potter, calm down, it was just a nightmare," Severus told him, fighting to keep the cold indifference from his voice. It had become second nature to him... Harry let go, although he was shaking, Severus pulling away.

"Its never just a nightmare," He said softly, voice still trembling. He rubbed his face, looking away from the professor as his breathing evened out. Severus waited for him to continue, but he didn't silent as ever and with that damned expression of nothingness on his face again.

"Then what is it?" Snape asked. Harry shrugged, the small motion causing great irritation. This was nothing to shrug at. "Potter, you're loosing your sanity and trying to take your own life, if nothing is wrong, then none of this would have happened. What is wrong?" This time it was a command.

"I'm alone!" Harry half shouted, glaring at Snape with moist eyes. "I have no one. All my friends here, professors who care, they can't help me. They don't know what I've been through, and all they offer when I tell them is a 'sorry' or 'that stinks', and pat me on the back in pity. Everyone else is dead. Sirius-" He chocked on the name. "-He died, because of me. Just like my parent, like Cedric. Like everyone else who has been killed in Voldemorts crossfire. That's whats wrong. It's not worth it any more. I'm tired of fighting, and pretending to be happy. I want to be with my mum and dad and Sirius. Why, after 5 years of looking down at me, and comparing me and my father to mongrels and pissants, did you have to step in now?"

He was panting, chest rising angrily as he glared at Severus. His fist was clenched, and his eyes shone in the darkness.

"Because, Mr. Potter, in case you haven't noticed, the fate of the wizarding world is left up to you. You die, and all hell breaks loose. You're living may cause suffering to some, but you're death will ultimately be more devastating," Severus replied, his voice an eerie, cool calm.

"I DON'T WANT TO HAVE THE FATE ON MY SHOULDERS." Harry yelled, throwing his covers off his bed and standing, swaying immediately. "I didn't ask for this. I was born, and Voldemort couldn't kill me, thus, my life has been decided for me. The only choice I can make-"

"Is whether to live or to die," Severus finished. Although he had never been put into a position where so much rested on his shoulders –although the current situation of being a spy could put him there – he knew where the boy was coming from. His muggle father cared little for him, abused him even. Not as much or over as long a period as Harry though. He hardly even called it abuse, although some would attest to it as such. His mother seemed lost in her own world, drinking alcohol and potions to put out her muggle husbands noise. Although he loved Hogwarts, he found little friends, losing Lily put him close to over the edge. He almost killed himself. Then he found the Dark Lord.

"I cannot empathize with you completely, Potter, but there were many times in my early life where I hungered to embrace death graciously," Severus said slowly, taking cautious steps forward. "But I chose a different path." Granted, that path was chosen in anger and thirst for vengeance. It did lead him here, however. Harry opened his mouth to argue, but his eyes rolled back and he slumped, Severus grabbing him before he hit the floor.

The professor sighed, heaving the boy back into bed. At least he spoke. At least he let Severus in. Although, now Snape wasn't sure he wanted to be let in. The boy was... more alike him than he thought. But he didn't want to make such a comparison. Contempt still slithered within, but the contempt was for James Potter, the one who tortured him the most during school. Snapes eyes roved over Harry's face. This wasn't James. He wasn't some high and mighty pure blood who was irrationally cruel to those he disliked. There were times where he seemed to prefer avoiding nasty situations, unless those situations involved Draco or when his temper flared.

Snape closed his eyes, opening them to the sky where aline of pink was dancing. This isn't James. Thats all he had to remember.


End file.
